


One Sunny Day

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Dalziel and Pascoe - Reginald Hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-17
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Cyphomandra</p>
    </blockquote>





	One Sunny Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Cyphomandra

 

 

Wield stood patiently to one side while Edwin cooed over a dusty book he'd spotted underneath a blue glass vase of bulbous shape. " _Candide_ , 1928," said Edwin. "Nothing too special, but only a thousand printed. A small investment, and possibly one for the future, I expect. It will look pleasant on the shelves, don't you think?"

Wield did not provide a response but fortunately Edwin didn't expect one, and reached into his pocket for his wallet. It did not appear.

"I've told you before, I'm not subsidising your strange obsessions," Wield said mildly.

"I can't find it."

"Are you sure you had it with you?" Wield reproached himself for verbalising his scepticism when Edwin made no guilty start. He cast his eyes about the ground, as if he might conjure the wallet up from the earth, but alas no such magic was forthcoming.

He did spot Tommy Middlewich, standing several yards away and watching them both with strangely calm eyes.

-

Petty theft was not a crime Wield cared to investigate on his off-days, but a night of Edwin's haranguing left his patience rather stretched, and so he got up early the next morning in order to make some preliminary enquiries. A quick chat with the vicar revealed that Tommy Middlewich had celebrated his tenth birthday with a trip to the church fair with his parents, "And a bloody boring birthday for the boy it must have been, too."

"Judge not," Wield said, and grinned when the vicar rolled his eyes.

-

It was eagle-eyed Mrs Granger who gave him his hottest tip. "Doris Walker's bag," she said, leaning in conspiratorially. "That pink thing she got at Lisa Middlewich's party last year. Tommy put the wallet in her bag while they were playing." She tapped him on the shoulder. "A real stitch-up, eh, Sergeant? He's a bad 'un, that Tommy Middlewich."

-

Wield did indeed catch up with Edwin's wallet in little Doris Walker's bag, just as eagle-eyed Mrs Granger had suggested. Doris blinked up at him with tears in her eyes while her mother stammered apologies.

"I'm so sorry, Edgar," said Mrs Walker. "I've no idea how she got hold of it. Doris! Apologise to Sergeant Wield, you've been a bad girl."

"But I didn't!" Doris snapped, and burst into furious tears. "I didn't, I didn't!"

Wield crouched down in front of the girl and said, "Nay, I know it weren't you, Doris, but I think you know who really did take it."

"It were that Tommy Middlewich," Doris sniffed. "He said he picked it up in the field out behind church."

It gave Wield a faint thrum of satisfaction to hear his suspicions confirmed. He thought to himself, _Christ, they're only kids,_ but it was also Edwin's wallet and that made it personal. "Thanks, Doris," he said, and gave her a shiny fifty pence piece, 2008 strike. "Mebbe your mam'll let you get a chocolate bar with it, but."

"Say thank you to Sergeant Wield, Doris," said Mrs Walker.

"Thank you, Sergeant Wield," said Doris, smiling but still sniffling.

Wield nodded, and watched them carry on across the green.

-

Six weeks ago Wield had bumped into old Mrs Granger in the village shop. "Sergeant Wield," she said, after having ambushed him beside the carrots. "I would like to report a theft."

"Morning, Mrs Granger," said Wield.

"That Tommy Middlewich," said Mrs Granger, "has stolen my garden gnomes!"

It was the first time Tommy Middlewich came to his professional attention and he'd expected it to be the last, as the boy's father had been in the next aisle along to purchase a new toothbrush and overheard every word of Mrs Granger's accusation. Wield regarded a child in possession of stolen gnomes as being outside his jurisdiction and had been more than happy to let the problem pass.

But then there was that business with the church chalice.

"I wouldn't care if it were a bit of replacement tat I ordered in from Religious Supplies dot com," said the vicar. "But it's a seventeenth century original! I expect it's worth a hundred church roofs."

Wield had asked Pascoe about it, he'd been so intrigued about the unlikely possibility of Enscombe's church sheltering such a treasure under its relatively worthless rafters.

"It's not as uncommon as you might think," said Pascoe, smiling. "A lot of the smaller old churches contain such relics, but I expectre usually kept safely under lock and key."

"I expect so," echoed Wield despondently.

"Let me guess," said Pascoe. "It could never happen in Enscombe."

"It never does," said Wield. "And this won't be happening for very long, I can tell you that for starters!"

-

As it happened, Mrs Granger had already taken it upon herself to launch a highly irregular surveillance operation against one Tommy Middlewich. Wield found her lying flat on her belly with a pair of binoculars peering through the Middlewich rear garden fence.

"The law takes a dim view of grown women spying on little boys," Wield patiently explained, after she voiced objections to his objections.

"How dare you!" Mrs Granger explained, and hit him across the shoulder with her binocular case.

"Nor does the law appreciate it when citizens assault police officers."

"An entirely justifiable assault," she sniffed, and adjusted her binoculars. "You are obstructing me in my civic duty. Look! Can't you see him? He's pouring water on Lisa's poor hamster!"

Wield peered through the gap in the hedge and saw that Tommy Middlewich was indeed pouring water on his little sister's hamster cage. The hamster, which Wield had on good authority (Mrs Granger) was called Snowy, appeared to be in some distress. Wield stood up. The little boy immediately stopped.

Wield let him stew in it for a moment, then said, "Your mam about, lad?"

"In the kitchen," said Tommy Middlewich.

Mrs Middlewich was pale when Wield brought Tommy's most recent crime to her attention. "I don't know what his father will say," she said. "I am sorry, Mr Wield."

"No harm," said Wield, thinking of Mr Middlewich and the swiftness of his justice. "Long as the church gets the chalice back today, but."

"I'll make sure of it," said Mrs Middlewich.

-

Not for nothing had Wield considered Enscombe a haven from the unpleasantness of his working life. He found that his feet increasingly dragged as he approached the Middlewich residence. Mr Middlewich was at home, Wield saw, a knackered BMW parked on the driveway that had been carved into the land at the side of the property. He did not entirely know what he intended to find when he knocked on the front door, but a gut honed over the years told him it would not be good.

It was not, but not for the reasons Wield had been expecting. He had expected to find a man of heavy fist and a woman black of eye, while a frightened children cowered under the stairs. Instead he found a family at rest; Mr and Mrs curled up on the sofa watching Corrie, while young Master and Miss played with the hamster on the living room floor.

"Sorry to disturb," said Wield, and found he truly was. "Wondered if I could have a word with Tommy."

Mr and Mrs Middlewich exchanged glances. "Lisa, why don't you put Snowy back in his cage," said Mrs Middlewich.

Wield waited until the girl had left the room, and then said, "Edwin's wallet went missing at the church fair the other day."

"Oh, Tommy," said Mr Middlewich.

"Prove it," said Tommy. "Even if I did it, and I'm not saying I did, you still have to prove it, don't you, Sergeant?"

Wield stared at him, and Tommy stared back. It would have been easier, perhaps, if there had been defiance in the boy's eyes, or fear of his parents or Wield himself. There nothing, though, nothing but Tommy, and Wield wondered if there was a chance this child wouldn't grow up to be his Franny Roote, several years younger and without the posh.

"I got it back off little Doris Walker," said Wield, addressing himself to the parents. "Said she got it off your Tommy. Like the boy says, I can't prove nowt except he were hanging around. Thought I'd better let you know either way."

"Thank you, Mr Wield," said Mrs Middlewich.

Wield met Tommy's eyes again and the boy stared back, and Wield thought to himself, _I'll see you again, sunshine. See if I don't._

-

Edwin received the wallet with an uncharacteristic restraint. "Wherever did you find it?"

Wield explained, adding, "And what do I get for recovering your lost property?"

"My undying gratitude," Edwin said, and toasted him with coffee mug raised. 

But the next evening there was a dinner of sausage and mash with lashings of gravy waiting for him on the kitchen table when he got back from the station, and something even better than that when he went upstairs to bed.

 


End file.
